DB 606
by tikitikirevenge
Summary: Five varied pieces of amateur poetry. Sonnets, haikus, rap battles, and more!
1. Colourless

**"DB 606"**

five contrasting reflections on 'de Blob'  
which, coincidentally, I own absolutely no rights to  
...I think THQ owns them all?...  
you'd probably guessed that already

written because we're all entitled to a little fun  
be aware, though, that parts 2 and 3 are absolute trash  
I mean, free verse? double dactyls? _sonnets_?  
clearly I was just trying to fill space

reviews welcome - encouraged, even -  
so long as you capitalise properly

* * *

**I. Colourless**

A radiant city by the sea

a people happy and carefree

a placid, dull serenity...

Perfect? No – step back and think.

Blinded by colour and by light,

naivety like theirs incites us:

March as one! Bring back the night!

Drop by drop we lay the ink.

.

Colour is a vile invention

made to serve one cruel intention:

forming rifts and differences where there had been none before.

Thus did Comrade Black envision

life sans pointless class division–

Strip away the hues and shades and war itself is nevermore!

.

Our critics and dissenters claim

there's sinisterness in our aim

their words defile INKT Corp.'s good name

But they won't push us past the brink:

We will stand tall against such swine

and should there be resistance? Fine!

We'll still uphold the party line.

Drop by drop we lay the ink

.

There's colour everywhere one looks

in shadows, corners, crannies, nooks

it may take many lifetimes to erase each last bespeckled trace

The hateful colours must be drained

The Raydians must be restrained

They must be painted grey and made to hunch their heads and stand in place.

.

With each and every gruelling day

as we drain endless paint away

our calm façades begin to fray

and our resolves begin to shrink...

A vision comes our way – we see

the day shall come when we shall be

a sterile, pure society

resplendent in monotony

'Til then, by Comrade Black's decree,

Drop by drop we lay the ink.


	2. Green

**II. Green**

Let's inject  
a little colour  
into the proceedings...  
Shall we?  
The wonderful thing about chaos  
is that it's always exactly what  
you expect it to be  
and though the  
results may  
be a bit  
unorthodox  
you will like what  
you see, truth be told  
we have no idea what that  
is, but enough music and you'll like  
anything

The world  
may be black  
and white on the  
surface, but it's all  
colour underground

_Red, (adv).  
1. Like trumpets caught in a forest fire, melting, screaming, melting, screaming.  
2. As a roar of ruby wreath raspberries: a sour bite, perfectly soft.  
See also: mimicry_

First off, props for not being so dull, for  
leaving a little space behind to colour in between  
the lines  
the lines  
Be glad we decided to paint the town red, you would  
never have stood around waiting for the bitumen  
to dry, you might think dull and grey is good  
–for a while, but when equality gets boring, try a little anarchy  
actually, we'll do it for you; no need to thank us  
but wait! It'd be plain rude to subvert  
the system without a proper introduction.

_Purple, (adj).  
1. Evocative of an electric accordion dipped into a basket of electric eels that writhe and flash with lightning, chord by chord.  
2. Helicopters.  
Antonyms: constancy_

_Left jab! Right hook! Turning kick!  
_Wham! Bang! Splat!  
Self defence is eighty percent confidence. Look an Inky in the eye,  
raise your fists, and there's a decent chance it'll run for the hills.  
But enough about me – what Chroma City needs  
is less talk, more action. And can  
you guess what I am?  
That's right, kids. All. Action.  
_Down for thirty! Shadow box!  
_Crack! Whoosh!  
Paint-fu is fifteen percent inventiveness. See that row  
of crates? See that crane? See that crowbar?  
Bounce off the walls and pound them to pieces  
with your sheer smarts.  
The Inkies won't stop coming, but we won't stop fighting 'em!  
_Rally the people! Topple the walls!  
_Squish! Smash!  
In fact, the walls are talking:  
they want a paintjob.  
Guess  
who's  
going  
to  
supply?  
_Squash 'em like flies!  
_Bif!  
(The other five percent is body mass.)

_Brown, (n).  
1. A sine function multiplied by a triangle function with a slick sliding frequency, passed through a 'low pass filter' – Fourier transform, truncate the high end, Fourier transform. Start at 440 oscillations per second and work your way up. Integration is left as an exercise to the reader.  
2. The coffee lingers on your tongue for a second. Alone in the corner of the café you can still hear the beans being ground.  
See also: divinity_

Ladies and gentlemen, I am the professor,  
or 'Prof', as the students prefer.  
I may not look as intimidating as my fellow revolutionaries  
but I am very handy with a pair of maracas.  
Don't test me.  
I submit to you that colour is  
a valuable addition to our culture  
a testament to our society's integrity  
mystifying, a puzzle like none other.  
Resistance is the only option. INKT should have  
seen us coming. They only had all of history as a precedent.  
We will take back Chroma City, one building at a time.

_Orange, (adv).  
1. Like the growls of a wild saxophone, chained to a circus pole, delighting the children and scaring the adults.  
2. Somewhere between lemon and melon.  
See also: flippancy_

zip! fast smooth wit  
quip barb sting lash  
whip spin dance turn  
flip soar leap hop  
skip rope sail boat  
trip plane jet speed  
zip?  
blobber bloo blobble blaab blib  
bloober bliba bloooo  
bloober bliba bloooo

_Blue, (n).  
1. Scissors on guitar strings.  
2. Archaic term for 'melancholy'.  
See also: trickery._

i'm a carefree soul, a girl with flaxen hair  
taking life as it comes, breathing laissez-faire  
and all that  
but  
it stands to reason that when the colours start  
flying you'll get a rainbow or two. This  
may come as a surprise to you, so  
if side effects scare you then run for cover  
because 'unintended consequences' is just another  
way of saying art nouveau, and if  
the prospect is scary then i apologise  
otherwise, lift your eyes. raise your paintbrush  
and the walls will fly  
with it, if you need help then i will supply  
because sure, there's an art to art  
but i'm an artful gal  
(arty? or is that trying too hard?)

_Yellow, (adj).  
1. Glockenspiel, glockenspiel, jelly and ice, ring up a world free of cruelty and vice.  
2. Slippery, scarily high  
See also: gravity._

We come at last to our hero Blob...  
but there are no heroes, no legends of ballad  
when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object  
they simply pass through one another, unaffected.  
Once cast out, he has now returned to prove one thing to the world:  
There is no such thing as too much colour.  
Will he succeed or not?  
A mystery.  
This is what the best tales are.

_Green, (n).  
1. The sound of a piano falling down the stairs when you just had it tuned.  
2. A colour. It has no opposite.  
See also: verdancy._


	3. Ideas

**III. Ideas**

_(the truth)_

Higgety hoggety

blibbity Blobbity

How are you planning to

bring colour back?

-

Idealistically,

without resistance but

probably by taking

on Comrade Black.

_(the whole truth)_

Chroma City News here, and tonight's lead story is  
vandalism; yes, those same criminals who have been  
polluting our streets for the last few weeks are at it  
again, this time scarring the dockyards  
we cut now to a live feed...

oh

...ladies and gentlemen, it seems that our  
camera crew has been subjected to the  
rebels'... well... what you just saw might  
be quite distressing to some viewers  
if it conjured any feelings of hope,  
please mention this to your INKT counsellor  
at your next session  
on to sports  
and the Uptown Blacks tied with the Downtown Blacks nil-all...

_(nothing but the truth)_

The Raydians... they need your help, no doubt.

But Blob, you're filled with doubts, isn't that true?

Is it resentment? They once cast you out

and now that they're in danger they want you.

Yes, sure, they turned you out, but you've fought foes

the likes of which we could never have dreamed

and now your name is one everyone knows.

Why can't you see it? Blob, you've been redeemed!

Now that they've seen your true self, loud and clear,

They'd fight for you. So you must do the same.

When this is over, murals will appear

and statues, monuments!, all in your name

The city needs you, Blob. You'll have to fight.

But first, we rest. Tonight will be our night.


	4. Sleep

**IV. Sleep**

hanging gardens, night–

bird stands guarding its treasure

one last drop of blue

.

inky soldiers dream

monochrome utopias

black suns on white skies

.

battle-fresh shipyards

children sit in the moonlight

watching the paint dry


	5. Furiously

**V. Furiously**

[_Darkness. From somewhere off stage, a walking bass meanders around the soundscape, kept in check only by the steady swing of brush on hi-hat. The sound heats up, cools down. Starts to groove, slides off into meaningless chromatics. Suddenly, in the middle of a bar the brass section hits a augmented chord. The lights fly on. COMRADE BLACK is standing centre stage, surrounded by his cronies. His back is turned. His posture exudes contempt._]

COMRADE BLACK

So you think you've won, my squishy friend?  
You think you've beaten me? You think this is the end?  
Well I've got news for you  
and the rest of your crew  
I may be leaving but I'm taking your colour too!

INKIES [_whispering, snapping their fingers on the offbeats_]

We may be leaving but we're taking your colour too  
We may be leaving but we're taking your colour too  
We've won, it's done, we've outsmarted you  
We may be leaving but we're taking your colour too

[_Suddenly the stage is the deck of a spaceship, with rockets blasting out from underneath it. The fire is real; the heat is chillingly radiant. As the spaceship begins to rise, BLOB and the rest of the Colour Underground can be seen entering stage right._]

ZIP

He's getting away! Run like the wind, Blob!

BIF

Strike the fear of colour into his soul!

ARTY

Jam some rainbows down his throat! [_aside_] Mangy little snob...

PROF [_pointing_]

Look out! He's heading for that black hole!

BLOB [_holding up a hand_]

Peace.

[_He leaps. The music stops. There is a moment of impossible slow motion, as he sails a perfect arc through the air towards the deck of the fast departing ship. Will he make the jump? Will he fall into the abyss below? For a split second anything seems possible._]

COMRADE BLACK [_eyes wild_]

Faster! Faster!

[_BLOB hits the deck with only a few feet to spare. The cymbals explode with triumph, and then every instrument in the pit is celebrating too. The same bassline from before is there, the only point of __constancy as fiddles and trombones and electric organs fight to be heard over one another. The mood is brazen, revolutionary, fearless. BLOB looks COMRADE BLACK in the eye and grins._]

BLOB

Beaten? Matched. Victory? Snatched. I don't know  
what you thought you'd do next, what crazy plans you'd hatched  
but I'm here, see, fear me, your hour's drawing near, we  
might as well get started,  
I don't have all year. Hee! [_sniggers_]

COMRADE BLACK

Not bad, Blob, you got on board  
that leap was quite impressive  
but it's a little early for you  
to be getting festive.  
'Cause yes, you may be crafty fast  
and worthy of my ire  
but you won't be around for long  
when my ink cannons...

[_Hatches open up across the deck, revealing monolithic white cannons the size of houses. The strings tremolo at tritones as the cannons swivel to aim at BLOB's deer-in-the-headlights figure._]

COMRADE BLACK [_cruelly satisfied_]

...fire!

[_The cannons go off like fireworks, balls of black goo flying everywhere. The organist slips in shock. The jazz cats scream like curdled milk. The drummer misses a beat, and all the other sections stumble. BLOB zigzags his way around through the chaos, running for his life. Colour blossoms wherever he moves, only to be consumed again by black as the blasts of ink splatter down onto the deck. He is fast. He is unstoppable. He is mad._]

BLOB

I dodge, I weave, I feint, I deceive  
you've left no space for a quick reprieve  
But tell me, Comrade, have you heard that old adage?  
"When trapped behind enemy lines, you _sabotage_!"

[_A cannon pauses to reload and BLOB leaps on top of it, crushing it to pieces. He moves across the deck, creating a steady line of havoc as he approaches the ship's more vulnerable parts._]

BLOB

Your cannons are easily dispatched  
Your engines are easily detached  
I'll bring your ship down if you let me.  
Don't like that? Then come and get me!

COMRADE BLACK [_waving, shouting orders_]

Fan out! Don't let him cross the deck!  
[_to a jetbike_] Outpace him! Trap him! Leave him a whimpering wreck!  
[_to a tank_] Crush him to pieces! Every last speck!  
[_to an Elite Inky_] Bury him in ink up to his neck!

INKIES [_crazed, double tempo_]

Up to his neck!  
Up to his neck!  
Bury him in ink up to his neck!

[_In all the chaos, the electric guitar has stumbled upon the perfect riff. Driving, pounding, slick and slippery, it punches through the rest of the music like a chainsaw through jelly. Slowly, one by one, the other instruments catch on to the riff. Some mimic, some play harmony, some fill the holes in the rhythm with intricate countersubjects. Fugue? Funk? Who cares?_]

BLOB [_who has no neck_]

Another Inky squashed, another tank impaled  
Did your army have to kill me? 'Cause they've definitely failed.  
Doesn't matter if you're rich or strong or intellectual  
if all your plays at stopping me are ineffectual

[_BLOB raises a hand, and the music stops / he twists a finger, and the drummer beatdrops / he shuffles left and right, and the tuba flops / and the jazz flautist swaps with the choir and bops_]

BLOB

Blob, blob, bloop de blob, I'm faster than you think  
Blippity, bloppity, bang! I've struck before you can blink  
and with the music right behind me, playing perfectly in sync,  
Drop by drop I'm gonna paint over the ink

[_COMRADE BLACK throws a switch, and the orchestra is ejected into space._]

COMRADE BLACK

Enough with this cacophony!  
Let's see you fight without your groove!  
You're all alone out here now, Blob.  
Check. Your move.

[_There is nothing left but drums. Fast, churning, syncopated when they want to be and dead on the beat when they don't. It is war converted to sound, adrenaline in its ethereal form._]

BLOB [_eyes narrowing_]

I can squash you like I squashed the rest of your goons...

COMRADE BLACK

You'll find that I'm a little hardier than those buffoons  
You may be quick, but you'll find that you're fatally landbound  
Inside this giant robot I'm safe and sound.

BLOB

...giant what?

[_COMRADE BLACK hops into a giant robot and begins firing ink at BLOB. Shock horror! Accelerando!_]

BLOB [_dodging, ducking_]

What the-? How the-? When did you build that?

COMRADE BLACK [_gleefully_]

While my goons kept you busy in town, you big-lipped gnat.

BLOB

I can still crush you through that, armour or not!

COMRADE BLACK

It's titanium alloy, Blob. Give it your best shot.

[_BLOB attempts to break through the robot's armour, but true to his word, COMRADE BLACK has created an impregnable inking machine. BLOB is knocked off, falling to the ground, and instantly a barrage of ink follows him. He runs, but already he is growing tired, his pace slowing._]

BLOB

Comrade Black! Stop! What you're doing is wrong!

COMRADE BLACK

...said the fly to the spider as it dragged him along.  
You had guts to make it this far, but it's stamina you lack  
and that's why you're going to end up painted black!

[_Just as the robot's aim catches up to him, BLOB dives behind a low pillar and huddles behind it. COMRADE BLACK smiles with primal satisfaction. There is no escape. He moves the giant robot closer, approaching the pillar, ink cannons primed._]

COMRADE BLACK [_sneering_]

Blob, blob, bloop de blob, come out and play.  
You gave it your best shot, but today is _my_ day.  
It was fun, but you're done, and soon the world will be as one  
Drained of hues and shades, lit by a colourless sun.  
You 'liberated' Chroma City, but that was back then  
and as soon as you're dealt with, I'll take it back again.  
You fought and bled 'til you saw red  
but for nothing, Blob! [_raising his arms_] Colour is dead!

[_There is a moment of pained silence, cut only by the snare drum's patient crawl. After an eternity, BLOB emerges from behind the pillar. There is fire in his eyes. He opens his mouth and lets forth a stream of crippling words._]

BLOB

Your machinations were infernal  
but the colours are eternal!  
Spring's here and the land is vernal!  
Sun's out and we are diurnal!  
Stand tall, Raydians! Seize the day!  
Blast this blasted colour away!  
Every colour's here to stay!  
Every colour's here to stay!

[_A noise can be heard in the distance. The PEOPLE OF THE WORLD chant as one, their voices so loud they can be heard from outer space. Ignore that nonsense about vacuums; what's physics but another set of pointless rules?_]

PEOPLE OF THE WORLD

Blob! Blob! Blob! It's Blob!  
Blob! Blob! Blob! The Blob!  
Blob! Blob! Blob! La Blob!  
Blob! Blob! Blob! De Blob!

[_Sensing the dramatic buildup, a gradually panicking COMRADE BLACK looks around. The music is back. And really, was it ever gone? Colour is just another kind of music, and BLOB is in the dictionary under 'colourful'._]

COMRADE BLACK

What are you doing? Tell me! What!

BLOB

I think your big robot has a little weak spot.

COMRADE BLACK

But it's tougher than steel! It's denser than bricks!

BLOB

Nothing that a little coloured paint can't fix.

[_BLOB hops onto a spot on the side of the robot and starts forcing paint through the cracks. COMRADE BLACK tries to force him off the sides, but to no avail._]

BLOB

Sorry, pal, but this battle is through  
you're about to be soaked in red, yellow and blue  
and all their combinations. [_waves_] Nice chatting with you!  
And... yep, here we go–

COMRADE BLACK

No! Nooooo!

[_The robot and the spaceship explode with colour. There is a bright blinding light, and the farthest reaches of the solar system are splattered with paint. The music explodes with life. The same riff from before is back, and now everyone is in on it. The world sings as one._]

PEOPLE OF THE WORLD

Blob! Blob! Blob! De Blob!  
Blob! Blob! Blob! De Blob!

[_COMRADE BLACK is trapped inside the robot, which is growing more and more colourful with each passing second. BLOB lands on the deck and spares him a glance._]

BLOB

Yours was a scheming endeavour  
You must have thought it pretty clever  
Life was duller without colour  
but now it's back like ever!

PEOPLE OF THE WORLD

Blob! Blob! Blob! De Blob!  
Blob! Blob! Blob! De Blob!

BLOB [_grinning_]

Long live the revolution!

[_BLOB turns and leaps off the plummeting spaceship, stage right._]

_[Curtain.]_


End file.
